


no more building up; it is time to dissolve

by glasvegi



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Because that's what this is, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Conflict, is ambiguous macdennis a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 11:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasvegi/pseuds/glasvegi
Summary: "Let's move in together.""What?" Mac knows what Dennis said. He just wants to hear it again._Post-college, Dennis asks Mac to live with him. It brings back some memories.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Break it Down Again" by Tears for Fears. Also vaguely inspired by "Don't Take the Money" by Bleachers.

**JUNE 1998**

“Let’s move in together.” 

The air between them is heavy, thick with smoke and the summer’s humidity. The windows of the Range Rover are up, and with every breath Mac swears he feels the temperature rising. He swipes at the sweat beading on the back of his neck and looks over at Dennis in the driver’s seat. He’s looking out the windshield, seat fully reclined, fingers laced together behind the headrest. Following Dennis’s sightline out the windshield, Mac looks at the sky, hanging still above them. It almost seems like they could touch it, it’s so close. Maybe that’s why it’s so hot, Mac thinks. The sky’s too close. Like falling asleep with a blanket over your head. Suffocating.

“Mac.”

He shakes his head and looks over at Dennis, who’s looking right back at him. He’s waiting.

“What?” He knows what Dennis said. He just wants to hear it again. 

“Yeah man, let’s do it. Let’s move in together.” Dennis shifts in his seat, turning his whole body towards Mac. He moves deliberately, each movement leading into the next, but they’re jerky and awkward. Like a French puppet. The ones on strings. Mac’s brain searches for that word, but it’s not there. It was never there. But it doesn’t really matter. He can ask Dennis later. 

_Let’s move in together._ Mac turns the words over in his head until they’re just sounds, no meaning, just one sound after another. The hissing S, flattened Philly O. He clenches his calves in time with the words. 

“It’ll be cool, Mac.” Dennis grazes the leather upholstery on Mac’s seat with his nails. The leather is still smooth, miraculously unharmed after five years; Dennis made it excessively clear that any damage to the car would count as damage to their friendship. “I just graduated, wanna start the next phase of my life, you know? Get an apartment. Fill it with cool shit, hang out like we used to. Have people over, throw some parties, get some babes.” 

Mac hasn’t said anything. He is very aware of that, but when he looks up, he realizes Dennis is just as stoned as he is. Weed has always affected them differently. For Mac, it’s always meant getting stuck in his head, new thoughts and old worries constantly popping up. Words and sentences echo silently long after they’ve faded from conversation. He overthinks and loses track of his body as he becomes nothing but a pounding heartbeat. And his heart _pounds._ Every rustle is a cop at the door, everyone who glances his direction knows everything about him. He glances over his shoulder and jumps at every sound and can’t relax. 

But it’s different for Dennis. He moves smoothly, smiles freely, and words slip from the corner of his mouth like thoughts made it a little too far. Laughs come easily, deep belly laughs with eyes crinkling. He gets more affectionate, Mac remembers, as Dennis reaches for his hand, taps his fingertips against the divots between his knuckles. Strokes his thumb against the back of Mac’s hand, a light absentminded touch. 

Mac thinks about the first time they got stoned together. It was back in high school, and Dennis had talked the whole time. They were fifteen, not quite friends yet; they were between any meaningful words. But that didn’t matter, because none of Dennis’s words were ever meaningful. Mac had no idea what he said. He just let the words wash over him, the rise and fall of Dennis’s voice becoming intimately familiar. Dennis made himself laugh, kept over-explaining his ideas, jumping to the next thing with lightning speed. And it didn’t matter what he said, because he wasn’t saying it for Mac. They were just Dennis’s thoughts out loud, and they still belonged to him. 

And Mac had sat there, tight-lipped and tense with his eyes closed until something shifted. The light coming through his eyelids changed, and he wrenched them open. Dennis was right in his face, asking “Are you good, man?” Mac could feel the breath from his words. From this close, he could see Dennis’s eyelashes. And Mac nodded, a twitch of a movement. If he made any sudden movements, he might do something stupid by accident. 

“‘Cuz you’ve been staring at me for, like, twenty minutes,” Dennis said. And Mac apologized, admitted he was maybe too stoned, and Dennis laughed. Sighed, “Amen.” And they sat in a prickling quiet before Dennis had another thought and picked up again, filling the space with his voice. Mac was grateful. 

But the now-Dennis sitting next to him, seven years older and still talking for the sake of it, is now reaching up to touch Mac’s hair. He’d forgotten to gel it down this morning. Dennis smooths it down with his fingertips as he speaks. 

“I saw an ad in the paper for a place. I want to go see it.” Dennis rests his hand on the top of Mac’s head. Mac can feel the heat from his palm sinking into the rest of his body. There’s a shine on Dennis’s face, a glaze of sweat, and his eyes are unfocused. He’s looking past Mac into nothing. How much of that is the weed and how much is the heat, Mac isn’t sure. 

“You should come see it with me. We could live there, bro. Dynamic duo, you know, the two of us. Just like old times. Think about it. I’ve— I’ve been thinking about it. It just makes sense.” His hand slides down Mac’s head, lingering just above his ear. 

_They were sixteen, ducking under the trees in Fairmont park as the rain started to fall. Dennis took another drink from the bottle, laughing as the sky opened above them. He turned, cocked his head, dropped the forty to his side. The other hand went to Mac’s hair. He ran a hand over it, pressing it down, already slick with rain. When he was done, he nodded. Muttered_ There. Looks better small.

 _And Mac laughed,_ what’dyou mean small? _Dennis gestured with the neck of the bottle._ Y’know. Like it’s right on your head. Tight. It’s small. _And Dennis’ shand slid down his head, resting at the nape of his neck. His fingers nestled in the short hairs, rubbed small circles into his skin._

_“What are you doing?”_

_Mac’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t realized he’d shut them. His lips were slightly parted, head tilted back. When had all that happened?_

_“I— Nothing, what? I—”_

_“I’m not gay, dude.”_

_“I’m not— Why would you say that? It’s… The rain, and—”_

_Dennis stepped forward and kissed him. It was not much of anything. They were damp, cold, a bit drunk, and Dennis moved his lips slightly, like he was smiling. He laughed when he pulled back, eyes buoyant and light. Mac watched as he dropped the bottle on the grass beside them and walked away, pulling his jacket over his head. It wasn’t much of anything, but it was. Mac stood there, dark pounding behind his eyes, until his shirt soaked through. He picked up the forty, drained the last few swigs, and threw it to the side before starting the walk home._

“Let’s get out of this car, dude. It’s hot as shit.” Mac pulls away, opens his door. The air outside isn’t much cooler, but at least it’s moving. They’re parked in the shade, but all around them the sun bounces off the pavement like foil. Mac squints past the glare to the cars and kids passing by on the street. They’re parked at the end of a dead end street, and the through traffic doesn’t seem to know this turn exists. But any one of those could be a police car. Or a tiny cop. Mac’s heart starts to race for no reason. It just wants to. Something strains against each beat of his heart, weighing it down, but he decides to ignore it. _No time for that_.

Dennis steps out of the car, slaps the lock and slams the door shut. He squints down the street, mouth open just a little. The back of his shirt is one big sweat stain. Mac presses gently on the door lock, waiting for the thunk of the mechanism and tensing in anticipation. When it clicks, he forces the words out. 

“You really wanna live together?” 

Dennis shrugs. “I just figured you’d show up wherever I live and start mooching immediately. Might as well hammer out the details now.” He squints into the sun. “I know you were gonna do that anyway. You're always doing that shit. Thought I’d get ahead of it for once.” 

“I mean, I’m living with Charlie now.” The shithole, Mac thinks. Two years in that place and it’s only gotten worse. But Dennis doesn’t have to know that. “It’s like, a whole thing.”

“He’ll be fine. Charlie’s cool. Charlie’s good,” Dennis says, drawing out the vowels, pulling them like taffy. “He probably wants you out of there so he can trick that girl into living with him. Do you have the keys?” 

“No, I thought you had them. It’s your car.” 

“Then we have a problem.” 

Mac thinks he can see the keys glinting from the center console. But it’s probably something else. That would be too perfect— out of reach, but right in sight. 

“I’ll call Charlie,” Mac sighs. “He can help us out.” 

When the automated operator prompts Mac for a name, he blurts out where they are, and please bring a coat hanger. The collect call is denied, and Mac knows Charlie got the message. He hangs the pay phone back up, watching the metal cord twist around itself. 

_Mac was trying to call his mom and get a ride. She didn’t pick up. The walk home wasn’t normally too bad, but the rain picked up and his clothes clung to his body as he walked, wind scraping across his bare arms. The liquor was keeping his blood warm, but his skin was cold to the touch. The operator asked if he’d like to try again. She sounded warm, like yellow light and a thick quilt. His mom wasn’t saying much of anything those days._

_“She probably won’t pick up,” he mumbled, mouth clumsy with booze. “She’s busy. Probably doing something for me. She loves me a lot.”_

_He hung up the phone, picked it back up, slammed it down again until it was ringing in its perch. He pulled the rosary from his pocket and walked home with prayer pouring automatically from his lips. He made it to the end of his ten Hail Marys when the cord snapped. Glory be to the father, to the son, and to the holy shit, no, no, no. He fell to his knees trying to catch the wooden beads that hit the sidewalk, but the rain rushing through the street carried them away._

_In the dim light of his bedroom, he peeled off his clothes, left them in a pile on the floor. He pulled a sheet over his head and opened his bible, squinting at the pages. The residue of the streetlights that flickered through his windows was just bright enough. He thumbed through the pages, eyes jumping and skittering across the page. Isaiah, 21:3._ I was distressed when I heard it; I was dismayed when I saw it. My heart wavered, fearfulness frightened me; The nights for which I longed He turned into fear for me. 

_Mac let himself keep the way Dennis played with his hands when they got high, the way Dennis looked at him from under his eyelashes, the hands in his hair and easy laughs. He pulled them apart from the warmth in his gut and the way each touch made him feel lighter. The pangs of something terrifyingly simple that echoed in his head. He could keep them all, but not together. If they left them combined, they were damning; one leads to the other, it means something. So he severed their ties, sorted them into sterile sections, and brought them back one by one. He kept them, pulled them out like smelling salts when he needed to come to, added them to his breath and blood. And as they coursed through him, he did not think about what it meant. He didn’t think about the bigger picture. He let himself stew in the feeling, or he let himself remember the way Dennis’s nose wrinkles when he laughs, but that was it._

_And that was ruined. Because how could he untangle these? It couldn’t be nothing. Not much of anything, but something. Dennis against him, kissing him. Mac turned away from the crucifix on his wall and kept his eyes closed. A whimper, a sob, he wiped his hand on the bare mattress. Job and Judas blurred together in the haze of morning light as he tossed back and forth, trying to shake his thoughts loose enough to allow for rest. They wrapped around his head and chest, tight enough to choke, and he gasped for air under their weight. They gave way eventually, retreating just enough to let a restless sleep claim him._

_In the lilting space between dreams and consciousness, he remembered being eight years old, crying over another broken rosary. He’d been praying for his dad, so he’d be safe in jail, and in his clumsy frustration, yanked on the frayed cord. He brought it to a nun, crying about breaking God. She put a hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him._

_“You put so much prayer into it, child,” she said, “It couldn’t hold any more. That’s all.”_

_In the morning, Mac was sure he’d dreamed it all._

“I really want…” Dennis has a far away look in his eyes as he licks his chapped lips. The heat does not flatter him. “A lemonade. Or something. In a glass bottle.” His shirt collar is wilting, creased and hanging limply against his chest. 

“It’s gonna take Charlie a while to get here. Let’s find you some.” 

_But when he threw his wet clothes in the dryer and something started clattering, shooting against the walls, he saw it. A broken rosary, beads gathering at the bottom of the drum._

The jingling bell above the door makes Mac jump as they walk into the Wawa. Dennis roams the aisles, index fingers tapping together as he mutters under his breath. The floor is so shiny, Mac can't look directly at it. Opening the cooler, he lets the cold air fall onto his face. It feels like water. Like something tangible and real, and he half-expects his shirt to be wet when he closes the door. He hands Dennis a frosted bottle of pink lemonade. 

The cashier smirks over their pile of beer and snacks. Mac pulls crumpled bills from his back pocket, tossing them on the counter. 

“You got ID?” 

They pat their pockets. For Mac, it’s an empty gesture. He knows it’s in the car. “Shit, don’t have it.” 

“Mine too.” Dennis turns to the cashier and widens the lazy smile he can’t seem to funny put away. “C’mon, guy, we’re 21. I’m 22.”

“Sorry, I can’t sell you the beer.” He reaches for the cans. Dennis grabs his wrist, grabbing the beer with his other hand. Mac blinks and the bell above the door is ringing, the counter is empty, and Dennis is gone. Outside, he can see Dennis running down the sidewalk, glancing over his shoulder. How the hell does he move so fast? Mac looks at the cashier with wide eyes and a thrumming pulse before taking off after Dennis. 

They sit with their backs against the Range Rover’s tires, cracking open beers. Mac downs half a can in one gulp, and the cold hits his stomach like a sucker punch. Bubbles threaten to come back up his nose. He coughs, swears, wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Dennis swishes the lemonade around in his mouth like a— _What are they called?_

“Dennis?”

“What?”

“What’re those wine guys called?”

“Sommelier.”

“Yes! That’s it.” 

Dennis looks at Mac, head cocked to the side. “What?”

“Nevermind.” 

Dennis shakes his head and takes another sip from the bottle. He taps the glass against his teeth, and Mac studies his profile. The way his head tips back, sun glinting off the bottle. He thinks about statues, marble, the way the years shaped and sculpted Dennis. When they got high in high school, Mac would study every pore on Dennis’s face, the way his ears jutted out like they were trying to fly away. His frizzy curls, too long to lay flat, the light they caught behind his head like a halo. The two zits that interrupted the slope from cheekbone to chin. Mac’s eyes follow the familiar journey of the hollows of Dennis’s cheeks, the ridge of his brow, the jutting bones of his wrist. His’ hair is shorter than it was in high school, no halo, but he still looks unreal. 

_If they lived together…_ The thought ripples through Mac, and he has to look away from his friend. He grabs another beer with one hand as he shakes the last drops from his first. He doesn’t want to get too close to his thoughts right now. 

_“What are you talking about?” Dennis looked at him, eyebrows drawn together._

_“You know… Us? The… What happened in the park?”_

_“I don’t know what you’re referring to, Mac.” Dennis laughed._

“I mean, when I get married or land a quality babe, you’ll have to move out,” Dennis says. “But for now at least, we’re young! We need a place where we can just be guys. A bachelor pad!” 

Mac laughs. “Yeah, when you get married, I’ll clear out.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Mac, if I reach… I don’t know, 32, and I’m living with a roommate I’m not also banging— If I’m still living with you— just fucking shoot me. Because I’ve obviously lost all drive and I’m not gonna do it myself.” 

They plow through the beers, chucking the empties into the gutter. One careens off the curb and flies back towards them. 

“I… Said some shit before I left for school. I know that. But no hard feelings, right? You understand, right?” 

Mac taps on his beer can. No hard feelings. He’s sure Dennis has already forgotten. So why can’t he? 

“Yeah. No hard feelings, bro.” 

Charlie shows up when the light starts to shift, white to gold as the sun creeps towards the horizon. He doesn’t have a hanger, but he offers to throw a rock through the window. He came all this way, after all, and he found a rock on the walk over. Dennis declines. 

“Guess I’ll call Dee, she can grab the spare key.” Dennis heads towards the pay phone down the block. Mac watches him leave. He didn’t know Dee had a spare key. 

Charlie sits on the ground next to Mac and grabs a beer. He turns the rock over in his hands, letting it thud into his palms. It’s nice and hefty. Could do a good amount of damage. Mac takes a breath, letting his words out alongside it. 

“Dennis… Might want me to move in with him.” 

“Oh.” Charlie shifts around, crossing his legs in front of him. “You gonna?”

Mac shrugs. “Maybe.” 

“I dunno why you let him do this.” Charlie runs a finger over the cracks in the pavement. 

“What’re you talking about?”

“Dude, Dennis treats you like shit.”

“What? That’s bullshit. He’s my best friend.” 

“Your best friend? He didn’t talk to you for like, four years! And he graduates and shows up acting like nothing happened and be best friends?” 

“That’s— You’re like, twisting everything around, that’s not what happened.” 

“ _That’s_ bullshit, Mac.” Charlie’s voice is tight and scratchy. “Friends see each other! Friends make time, and they never give up, no matter what. He treats you like shit, it’s true. Remember that party—” 

“Shut up! Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t know Dennis. And you don’t know me, either.” Mac stands and his feet are full of sharp static. He staggers putting his weight on them, but walks anyway. “I’m gonna go wait for Dee.” Charlie scoffs, but Mac keeps walking. 

Dee throws the keys at Dennis’s face when she pulls up. Her hair is wrapped in curlers like women in old movies. The din of her car’s engine covers the sound of her cursing them out before peeling off. 

“Ready to go, man?” Dennis looks over Mac’s shoulder. “Where’s Charlie?” 

“I dunno. He went home.” Mac taps the toe of his shoe on the pavement. “You gonna call and go see that apartment?”

Dennis laughs, claps his hands. He reaches out and pats Mac’s back, rattling off everything he read in the ad. It quickly devolves into his own plans for the place. Mac tunes him out as they walk back to the car, roll down the windows, burn their fingers on the seat belts. Dennis talks non-stop as they coast down the streets. He lights a cigarette, offers Mac the lighter. The sky is hazy with setting light and everything looks golden. Like an old picture. Everything’s back the way it should be. And even better. They could live together. Dennis wants to live with him. Mac thinks about Charlie’s words, about four years of dropped calls and half-baked excuses and fully-baked Mac laying alone in his room, frantically trying to recall every memory of Dennis in case he never saw him again. He thinks about every time he asked “Do you think he’ll come back?” and every time Charlie sighed and started talking about something else. He feels a pang of something, a twinge like pressing a bruise; _everyone’s going to leave. I have to make them stay._

But Dennis looks over, catches Mac’s eye, and laughs for the sake of it. Because they’re finally back here, both of them, again. Dennis takes up the perfect amount of space next to Mac, like he was always meant to be there. And with the golden light filtering over Dennis’s face as they drift through the city, the easy tap of his fingers on the wheel and half-smile on his lips, Mac forgets everything else. 


	2. Chapter 2

**OCTOBER 1993**

“It’s gonna be great,” Mac said, tugging on the front of his jacket. It was incredibly snug around his arms, and it squeaked as he moved. “How long has it been since we’ve been to a rager? We just need to let loose.” 

“It has been a while,” Charlie said. “It just feels weird, man. It took half an hour to get here and we’re gonna have to walk back, and that’s gonna suck, bro. I don’t see why we had to come to this party. There’s one like, down the block from your house.” 

“No, you don’t get it. College kids love locals. Think about it.” Mac held out a hand, and Charlie handed him the flask. “Whenever there’s a riot, or a crazy fight, who’s behind it?”

“Locals.” 

“Locals!” Mac laughed, clapping Charlie on the shoulder. “Every good party needs some locals to stir shit up. We’re gonna be welcomed with open arms by these college stiffs.” 

“Okay, I see what you’re saying,” Charlie said. “It has been a while since I’ve gotten really wasted at a party, you know, really let loose. I gotta let off some steam, man.” 

“Well, no, don’t get shitfaced, because I’m gonna need your help.” 

“With what? Oh, don’t do your stupid plan, Mac, I don’t want to do that. Can’t you just call him or something?” 

Mac stammered, avoiding Charlie’s eyes. “Uh, no, because I don’t want to talk to him. We’re just gonna bust in there, bang the hottest chick at the party, and have the night of our lives. And maybe Dennis will see us and realize that we don’t need him.” 

“Whatever. Let’s go get drunk and you can do your Dennis plan.” 

“It’s not a— You’re getting hung up on the wrong things.” Mac spread his legs and flexed. “How’s this working?” 

“You’re super sweaty. And that jacket is a little small.” 

“Yeah, that’s a secret other buff dudes use. They size down all their clothes to enhance what they’re working with.” 

“You’re really busting out of that thing. And it’s pretty cool, I gotta say.” 

The frat house looked like they always did in movies; people out on the lawn, on the roof, yelling and dancing. People lucid enough to go outside to puke wobbled in the driveway, bumping into Mac and Charlie as they pushed into the house. Inside, music blared from a boombox and people were shouting over it, screaming along, shrieks of laughter. Mac pushed his way into the kitchen and found the keg. He and Charlie had pre-gamed on the bus over and the drink coursing through him made it easier to ignore any thoughts that might wander into his head, but he’d need more to really shove them down. 

Grabbing a plastic cup, Mac poured himself a foamy beer, downed it, and repeated the process twice more. Mac had gotten comfortable leaning against the counter, watching the sway of bodies move around him, when something crashed into him, shoving him away from the tap.

“Outta my way, dickshit.” 

Mac turned to look at the regretfully familiar face staring back at him.

“Dee?” A flannel shirt was tied around her waist, obscuring part of her back brace, but it was her. She was wearing heavy eye makeup, hair that had been carefully styled hanging limply around her face, teetering on her feet. Her breath smelled terrible, and Mac could tell she’d been hitting it pretty hard. Some things never change.

“Oh, goddammit!” She stomped, huffing like a child. “What are you doing here?”

“What are YOU doing here?”

“I go here!” She put a hand on the brace covering her hip, clutching a cup in her other hand. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t have to justify myself to you. So, still got the whole Aluminium Monster thing going on, huh?” 

“Fuck you, Mac,” she said. “I— I’m getting it off soon.” She squinted at him. “Are you stalking my brother?” 

“No!” Mac looked around indignantly. “We’re here to party. Me ‘n Charlie are gonna get wasted, bang some babes, you know. It’s a frat party.” 

“Aw, Charlie’s here too? Come on,” Dee whined. “You guys, you’re not supposed to be here! This is my time to reinvent myself.” 

“Yeah, don’t care, Dee,” Mac said, peering over the crowd. In the living room, a circle of kids were passing a bong around. Boys were pulling girls up the stairs, laughing and tripping over the steps. Mac turned back to Dee, and his vision took a second to catch up with him. The booze was settling into his body, loosening his joints. “I’m here to party.” 

“Yeah, right,” Dee said, snorting. “He’s by the bathroom.” 

“Who?” Mac walked away, shaking his head. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck. He felt good. Better than good; the music was just loud enough, blocking out anything but the tinny drums and rattling walls.

Mac hummed to the song, placing his steps in time with the beat. He chopped the air, whistling through his teeth, leaning into the liquid feeling in his brain. The song began to fade out, and Mac laughed to himself, because the voice riding beneath the fading music sounded familiar, sounded like… 

Dennis.

Mac stopped in his tracks, arms falling to his side. There he was, leaning against a wall with his arm above the head of a co-ed. His hair was long, curling around his head, and his shirt was freshly pressed, dark blue jeans, clean leather shoes. The girl was crossing her arms, nodding, eyes darting around. Dennis was drunk; his shoulders were stooped, and he lost his balance for a second, righting himself against the wall. 

“Dennis!” 

For a second, Mac looked around to see who had said that. Dennis turned to look at him, head craning slowly around. Mac realized his mouth was still open. _Fuck._

Dennis held up a finger to the girl and pushed himself off the wall. He walked over slowly, chin tipped down. He spread a smile across his face, pushing the corners of his lips up as deliberately as if he was molding clay. 

“Hey, Mac!” He walked up, slapped Mac on the arm. “What are you doing here?”

“I— We came to party, man!” Dennis’s eyes were boring into him. He was still smiling, but too many teeth were showing, and his eyes were blank. Mac tripped over his words, head swimming. “It’s been a while, how’ve you— How are you— College life, man…” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Dennis exhaled, nodding. “You can’t be here.”

Mac laughed. “What?”

“Get out of here, Mac! Do you not remember what I said? I can’t be seen with you here! I’m a new man now, a man of class and dignity. I’m in the middle of teeing up a little something-something for later,” Dennis said as he turned around to gesture at… The empty wall. “Goddamn it, Mac, she got away!” He took a breath, blinking at the ground. 

Mac’s lungs were shallow. He couldn’t take a breath. The spit in his mouth ran dry and hot. “I just. I missed you, dude.” 

“Okay. I don’t see how that’s my problem.” Dennis smiled at him, shaking his head. “Get the fuck out, Mac. You don’t belong here. I don’t want you here. Get out.”

Mac didn’t remember finding Charlie, leaving the party, starting the walk back across the Schuylkill. Charlie was stumbling a little. Something wet was splattered across his front. Mac didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. 

Charlie broke the silence. 

“I’m not gonna say I told you—” 

“So don’t.” 

Mac didn’t feel the thrumming in his legs or the shaky balance of his head or the prickling at the corner of his eyes until he felt it all. He dropped to the ground, sitting on the curb and ducking his head between his knees. Charlie sat next to him, rubbing at Mac’s shaking shoulders. In the gutter, he thought he saw a small wooden bead. But when he rubbed at his eyes and opened them again, it was gone. 

“C’mon, let’s go home.” Charlie pulled Mac to his feet, lead him down the streets and stopped in front of his house. Mac shook his head, and they kept walking. 

Laying on the couch in Charlie’s mom’s basement, Mac brought all of it together, every memory and feeling he had dissected and separated. It all snapped together like magnets, forming something much too big for Mac’s chest, pressing on the inside of his rib cage and resting heavily on his heart. Because, he supposed, it didn’t really matter anymore, if it was all in the past. It was never going to be something. So as he drifted off, he let the weight of it crack his ribs and carve out its own place within him. And in the morning, when everything had scabbed over and the ache was just an echo, he began searching for forgiveness. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! im on twitter and tumblr with the username glasvegi.


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